I was friends with Mark since we were 14. We were never really that close. We would rarely speak in school, because I'd hang out with more popular kids. We'd study together sometimes since he was smart, or we'd talk, but always about my problems, never about his. At times I would go weeks without acknowledging his existence then when a big exam was coming up I would pretend we were besties.
I used him for 4 years like that, and he never seemed to mind. Maybe he knew. Maybe he knew he'll get back at me someday. Turn the tables on me and start controlling me like I controlled him all those years. For 4 years, I was the one who decided when we would meet and what we would do. That has changed. I've become his toy he could play with and explore each week, and I could do nothing about it.
It was bad as it is. The fact that I had a boyfriend made it worse. The fact that I loved my boyfriend made it hell. I lied to Kyle all the time. He thought Mark had been prepping me for a math exam, that's why the regular meetings at his place. He never suspected a thing.
***
"We need to talk," I said.
"I'm listening," Mark replied with patience in his voice.
"We have to cancel tomorrow. I can't go to your place again."
"Listen. If it's about what happened... it won't happen again. I swear."
"Look, you're clearly skilled at massaging," I reasoned. "You don't need more practice."
"Just come watch Netflix then," he pleaded. "Please. I don't want to lose you as a friend. I won't touch you again if you don't like it."
Mark seemed genuinely concerned that this thing between us could end our friendship once and for all. I've never seen so much sadness in his eyes. I wanted our meetings to end, but I couldn't find strength to break his heart. I took pity on him.
"Okay, I'll come. But no touching."
It was foolproof. If I don't get naked, he can't start touching me in inappropriate places and I won't lose control over my body. Keeping him as a friend also meant keeping him quiet. The last thing I would've needed is for him to start telling people how he fingered me to orgasm that one time.
So next day came, and I was there, lying on his bed, watching Netflix. It was so long ago we did this last that by now I completely lost track of the events of the show we were watching. Because my mind was still occupied by the thoughts of all the things we did in this bed, my boobs getting played with, my face being shoved into his crotch, feeling the outlines of his thick cock through his shorts, his finger rubbing my clit... I just couldn't concentrate enough to make sense of what was happening on the TV screen.
This was worse than being used by his soft, yet strong hands. I was reliving every moment of it, except for the pleasure part. I needed a distraction. Netflix wasn't good enough. I needed something. Something small to keep me away from my thoughts.
"Could you massage my foot, please?" I asked him. "It hurts from all the running in gym class."
"It's hard to massage you, if I'm not allowed to touch you."
"Alright. You can touch me. Just not there."
"Not where?"
"You know where."
"You have to be specific."
"Not my pussy."
I hated that he made me say it. Said out loud, it made me realize once again that he has not only seen the most intimate part of my body up close, but touched it, running his hand all over it until he made me come.
"Okay," he said. "I won't have my hands near it. Anyway, it was you who asked for it last time."
He was right. I gave him permission. I consented to my own rape. Not this time though. I was smarter this time. My clothes were staying on. I only took off my socks so he could work my feet. The white top and the denim shorts I was wearing remained on, protecting me in case his hands started to wander.
Once I was sock-free, I lay back down on my stomach. He sat down behind me, took my feet, placed them in his lap, and started massaging them with oil. He was really talented at this. It didn't take too long before I could relax myself. Finally, I could focus on the pleasure of a massage while it was anything but sexual. Just an innocent foot rub.
Then, after a few minutes passed, I suddenly felt a hard surface growing in his lap where my feet rested. I could tell he was getting aroused. That pervert was already thinking about the way he will seduce me. And he wanted me to know it. He was so cocky he thought he could manipulate me despite making no efforts to hide his intentions. I was boiling with anger, but I did nothing. As long as he was poking at my feet with his cock and not my face, I was fine with it.
Soon, however, the hardness began to take shape. I could feel his shaft with my feet through the gym shorts he was wearing. To my surprise, it just kept getting bigger. I noticed last time that he had a really thick cock, but I couldn't feel the entire length of it. Now I could. He was hung. I was pretty sure he was bigger than Kyle. Or any other sex partner I had before him.
I started getting unmanageably wet thinking about Mark's size. I realized I wasn't wearing disposable panties this time, but my own. I was hoping my wetness wouldn't soak through my shorts, but I could feel it getting messier in there. I also noticed that, while trying to scan his size with my feet, I unwittingly started moving them around in his lap, stroking his large cock through his shorts. I felt a throb as a wave of blood rushed into his penis.